Kicking and Screaming
by Nichiwwa
Summary: Can a young Dalish Elf succeed where others have failed? Follow Anatariel Lavellan, as he drags Thedas kicking and screaming into a Golden Era not seen since the days before the fall of Arlathan. Self Insert, Lavellan/Dorian, Magic, Advancement and World Building!
1. Backgrounds and Beginnings

**Backgrounds and Beginnings**

In my old world, people used to say that getting a tattoo on your foot was one of the most painful experiences a person could go through. In my new world and life, I call bullshit, because I'm lying on my back with two men pressing my shoulder blades into the bed roll, while Keeper Deshanna applies the Vallaslin of Mythal onto my face. There are tears running freely down the sides of my temples, my jaw aches from biting down on the leather strip that was proffered to me before the ritual and my shoulders are screaming where they're digging into the solid ground beneath me. I'm not ashamed to admit that the noises I made were the furthest thing from manly and stoic as could be possible. But in truth, I'm _hardly_ your typical Dalish Elf.

This life isn't the first that I have had the pleasure of experiencing. No, not at all. Call it reincarnation, providence or simply a cosmological mix up but I found myself acknowledging my secondary existence around my tenth birthday. Not a clue why I suddenly started to remember my rather humdrum life on Earth, but imagine my surprise when all the memories and surroundings of my second life resonated with the memories of my first. I almost had a complete nervous breakdown when I recognised the Aravels and other smaller things, like the simple greetings and place names that had become part of my suddenly Elven life. Needless to say the others in my clan thought it best to steer clear of me until I snapped out of whatever trauma they thought I'd inflicted upon myself, as they had no reasons to explain my hysteria.

Now luckily for me I had ten years of living in the wilds of Thedas to help me through the transition from modern English human, to Dalish Elf of Clan Lavellan. The one thing they don't tell you back on Earth is how embarrassing living in nature can be, having to take a shit and wipe your arse with a particularly hairy leaf sure inspires confidence in a young – _old_ – mind.

So now that I'm sixteen, I begged the Keeper to let me receive my Vallaslin early and become an adult in the eyes of the clan. I had plans to enact and by Mythal I wasn't going to stand by and do nothing, not while I had knowledge that could prevent so much disaster and death. I could have just carried on as if nothing had changed and let the world fall apart, but obviously I'm here for a reason, or I wouldn't be here at all! A twenty five year old stuck in the body of a sixteen year old child, what other reason would I be here for? To narrate the bloody life and times of Inquisitor Lavellan? I don't bloody well think so.

Keeper Deshanna knows why I'm taking my Vallaslin so young, and to be honest I think she's happy – for me and the clan both. As soon as my skin has healed I'm packing up and putting my well thought out plans into motion, the first of which is to get the hell out of dodge and start making some foundations for the future. It's currently 9:34 Dragon and I've got seven years before the entire continent goes to shit.

No pressure then, I suppose.

After a solid three hours of agony and tension, Keeper Deshanna lifts the needle away from my face for the final time, quickly followed by the two hunters pulling me into a seated position and handing my some water mixed with Elfroot to help dull the pain and start the healing process. I let out a groan as the tingling in my face starts to itch, offering no relief whatsoever from my torture.

Hearing a soft chuckle I looked up to see Keeper Deshanna giving me a sly smile. "Looks like someone is feeling the after effects, hmm?", she says, rubbing her own stiff fingers. I shoot a riposte back instantly. "Sadist. Thats all you are you senile crazy woman! Just because you're joints and bones are turning to dust, that doesn't mean you can take any pleasure in my pain!" So what if I sounded petulant? She was practically vibrating with glee at my swollen face. She-devil.

The Keeper looks stunned for a second before bursting into shocked, delighted laughter, "Now where has this Anatariel been hiding all these years? I never knew you had the capability for such venom, frankly I'm impressed. I don't feel as much worry about you leaving us as I did not three hours ago" and here she looks at me with more softness than she ever has, "your parents would have loved to see you coming out of your shell little one."

On instinct I lowered my head to hide the sadness that no doubt marred my already bruised face, there was no need for anyone to see it. Though they easily would have guessed as to why.

Growing up without parents should have been a harsh life, especially out in the wilderness of Northern Thedas. And for the first ten years of my life it was, that is until I started to remember my past life, including my parents and family from Earth. It helped to temper the sadness and resentment that my mixed up mind was forming, adding an adults perspective that halted those feelings from festering into something more dangerous. Now I'm just a sarcastic twit with magic as my escape from the troubles of nomadic life, there's nothing like throwing some lightning around a camp of bandits who were targeting the Aravels. Good times.

Shaking those thoughts of melancholy from my mind, I stood with determination and thanked the Keeper for her efforts, bidding her goodbye while I went to pack what essentials I needed to begin my 'Quest To Stop The World From Ending'.

I strode through the camp at a brisk pace, making my way back to my tent. I wanted to get everything packed and be beyond the camp boundary by midday, luckily the Keeper elected to apply my Vallaslin just after sunrise or I'd have to wait until the next morning.

It was the work of just a few precious minutes to get all my supplies and tent packed away into my leather bag, which I slung over my shoulders with practised ease. I mean that literally too, I've gone through this routine so many times over the years that I could do it blindfolded. Taking a breath I gave one last look around the camp before I sought out Keeper Deshanna for the last time.

I soon spotted the old crone standing before the entrance and exit of the little valley we'd made camp in, along with her First, Moriel. A mage of notable skill and ego amongst the clan, though the ego seemed to have been deflated by Deshanna's sadistic ways over the last two years since he'd been chosen. Thank Mythal for small mercies, the prick deserved a good humbling.

"Well Keeper, this is it", I sing cheerily. "I'm all packed away and I'll be out of your white and wiry hair in no time at all. Off to explore the world and find my place in it blah, blah blah.." My flippant attitude was having the desired effect, Deshanna was smiling wickedly while Moriel was turning a lovely shade of puce. All in a days work.

"Safe travels Anatariel Lavellan", was the Keepers response, "you'll forgive me if I don't weep for your departure, not after that comment you little swine". She's shaking her fists in my direction with a look of mock indignation upon her face. Its kind of adorable really, its her way of showing she cares, usually followed by a blast of frozen air at point blank range. Crazy she-elf.

Moriel is turning into a rather unattractive aubergine-purple and I know when to cut my losses and run. So I give a quick salute and set off out of the valley at a gentle jog, and I as put distance between myself and my only home in this world I hear an explosive breath, and a sigh of "Good riddance to bad rubbish", followed by the crack of static and a yelp.

Good old Deshanna, always willing to show an idiot their place in the pecking order. I'm going to miss that batshit crazy witch.

* * *

 **AN: Hello again, precious readers! Here I am with the opening chapter to a new story. For those who are wondering about my other two stories and my complete silence for almost 4 years, I humbly beg for forgiveness. All I can really say is that life got pretty shitty with debt piling up everywhere i looked so i really need to get my life in order and posting new chapters wasn't even on the list of priorities. You understand I hope, but yes I'm back! And yes I'll be working on this story the most as its fresh in my mind and I actually have some form of story plan laid out for this. As you can tell, Its Dragon Age. My other two stories may never get touched again, but that could change depending on my muse and all that rot.**

 **Hope you enjoy the chapter! Please review as well, I need to motivation to continue.**

 **Many Love, Nichiwwa**


	2. Journeys and Plans

**Journeys and Plans**

Walking along the riverbank, Anatariel decided, was a completely different experience when you didn't have the noise and clutter of the clan surrounding you as you went. The quiet was certainly welcome, but it was tinged with a modicum of strangeness that he wasn't expecting, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth though. He needed the relative silence of the forest to refresh his mind of his plans for the near future.

The first step, was to explore the country of Ferelden and look for suitable places to hide small groups. The mage rebellion would be a lot less damaging if those who didn't wish to fight, but were otherwise forced to out of necessity, managed to find a place to call sanctuary. A home for the lost.  
There had to be dozens of places that could be converted into bolt holes and bunkers, especially with the aid of his magic. The hard part would actually be finding them without tipping off the local Nobles, they wouldn't take kindly to rebel mages hiding out on their lands.

But with only three years passing since the end of the Fifth Blight, the country was a mess of tension and poisoned fields. Finding even one place would take a lot of caution and know how from his previous life.

As he made his way further south, Anatariel smiled to himself a little. _Even semi-modern technology and processes would be a massive boon. The people of this world – especially the well educated ones, have a decent concept of disease. They just don't have a clear idea of what causes it, other than bad hygiene in general. And fighting the spread of a disease is a completely different kettle of fish altogether. Now obviously, boiling water and fire sterilise practically everything. But reclaiming Blighted lands is going to be a tough slog. I know a little about removing diseased plants and how to properly dispose of them, but I think my best bet is to stay clear of the worse affected areas and stick to the prevention principle._

He smiled to himself and picked up his pace a little, he wanted to find a decent place to camp before night fell.

After about six hours of steady progress through the out lying valleys and hills, always following the river towards to Waking Sea, the blonde haired elf found what seemed to be a perfect spot to set up camp. It was a small clearing a few feet back from the river, it was hidden from direct sight by a slight raising of the bank and trees to the opposite side. Practically perfect for his setup.

It was the work of half an hour or so to get his tent set up, as well as some traps to catch his dinner and a fire to cook it with. Once all that had been done, he sat down on his bed roll, which for the time being was laid in front of the fire to warm it, and took out a small polished piece of silverrite from his bag. Taking a breath he quickly held the makeshift mirror up to his face, angled just so, so that the fire illuminated his features enough to make out in the light of early dusk.

 _Well, its seems that Elfroot has performed yet another miracle, I don't look nearly as puffy faced as I thought I would. And the colour of this tattoo really does match my eyes, nice._

The young elven boy-cum-man assesed his face and he was right his Vallaslin complimented his pale features and rather striking violet and pink eyes. The green ink, the colour of peridot, made his eyes glow more than usual in the darkness. Combined with the rest of his face, it looked quite entrancing.

He was pretty tall, for an elf at least, and his hair fell down his back in a curtain to just past his waist. At the moment it was plaited for practicality, he wasn't stupid. His ears were slightly longer at the tip than was considered average, and they also laid flatter to the head. All in all, he considered himself a handsome individual and Anatariel counted himself lucky that he didn't enter this world in the same body that he left his old one.

 _That would have been a major disappointment. I mean, I'm taller now then I was as a human! Why wouldn't I be happy with everything I have now. Not to mention I've always wanted to grow my hair this long, Clearly my parents in this world were lookers._

Heaving a tired sigh, Anatariel placed his makeshift mirror back into his bag, added more wood to the fire and began getting ready for some sleep. He wasn't all that hungry and he could always eat in the morning, so he pulled his bedroll back into his tent and settled down for his first night away from his clan. He couldn't help the smile that flitted across his face at the thought.

 _Freedom._

Waking up the next morning was admittedly harder than he thought it would be, not having the noise of the clan to help him rise from his slumber certainly attributed to it. But Anatariel eventually pulled himself from the tent and headed straight for the river, the cold water would help to clear the fog of sleep from his mind.

Not even stopping to brace himself he strode right in, clothes and all and sank straight beneath the waterline. After a few seconds the now soaking elf shot up with a yelp of frozen discomfort. "Bloody buggering hell that's cold!", he half shouted to himself. But instead of retreating back to the shore where he could dry himself off, the mage stood perfectly still.

After only a few moments the water around him in started to slow, and after it had come to a complete stop it started to steam a little. Once he was happy with the temperature, he began stripping off his clothing and tossing it back on to the riverbank. All the while maintaining the position of the water along with its heat.

Once he was completely naked, he sighed to himself and sank down into the water, stopping at his neck.

"Thank Mythal for fire magics", he groaned softly to himself, "All that walking yesterday really did a number on me".

With a haphazard wave of his hand, his bar of home made soap shot into his hand from his open bag, which he deftly caught, making a start on his morning ablutions.

After quickly washing yesterdays grime from his body and hair, Anatariel dashed from the river, steam rising from his form as he went. By the time he had reached his bag, where his second set of clothes resided, his skin was perfectly dry. Throwing his clothes on he set about drying his hair, running his fingers through the soaking tresses and leaving it dry after only of couple of passes.

 _Magic is the best thing ever!_

Next, he set about checking his traps, finding two fat rabbits he quickly killed them with a small bolt of lightning, and took them back to camp. Skinning them was a job of a few scant minutes, which he followed up by skewering both animals on a sturdy stick, which he held over the still glowing coals from the night before.

Once he had eaten, the young elf cleared away the remains of his meal, and took out his small journal that he had managed to acquire from one of the larger human settlements that his clan traded with on a regular basis.

 _So, first things first, find a boat with someone willing to let a Dalish Elf travel for free, then find a defensible bolt hole. Then I need to find a way to make money, or at the very least gain a reputation as someone to rely on... maybe mercenary work?_

 _I could always offer the Captain of whatever ship I come across my services as a mage, I find it hard to believe that any Captain worth his salt would turn down what I could offer him._

While these thoughts were running through his head, Anatariel flipped through his journal, muttering to himself as he laid out his plans.

 _Now with the work I've been doing on warding, I'm sure I could convince the Captain to let me make the crossing to Ferelden. I mean who wouldn't want an intent based ward to keep pirates away from their ship and cargo? And if that isn't enough, I could always offer them my siege based ward..._

With his decision made, the golden haired elf jumped up and quickly packed his camp away, removing any trace of his existence with a forceful sweep of his arm, the magic wiping away all evidence that someone had camped here. Once again he set off at a gentle jog, following the river south towards the Vinmark Mountains and ultimately, Kirkwall.

It took a further three days to reach the outskirts of Kirkwall, on the farther side of the Vinmarks, and Anatariel was heartily sick of bears, wolves and bandits. Though he at least got to refine he lightning attacks, it wouldn't for him to get sloppy after all. He shifted his pack for what he hoped was the final time, being careful not to jostled his new found friend too much.

He turned his head to glance at said friend, a young Nevarran Wildcat, which he guessed to be around 8 months old, he found the poor little creature trying to get into his store of dried meat in the early hours of the morning. For some reason he didn't immediately chase the cat away, instead he coaxed it closer with some fresh meat he had left over from his previous nights camping.

It didn't take long to determine that it was male, and he turned out to be quite affectionate and something inside of Anatariel melted a bit, memories of his pet cat in his past life urging him onward.

"Now what're you doing all alone out in the wilds little one", he crooned softly, picking the pitch black creature up into his arms. "surely you should still be with your mother?" All he got in response was a pair of acid yellow eyes looking at him soulfully, before a small, scratchy chirping sound left his little maw.

Anatariel surpressed a coo, "Gods you're too bloody cute!, though I suppose you'll grow to be a beast within a year".

The beasts only response, was to yawn and nuzzle into the pale elf's arms.

"...Okay, I'm keeping him. And you'll be called... Sauron. Yes definitely, I can see it already, your yellow eyes watching over the camp – 'The eyes of Mordor are ever watchful' indeed".

 _Hopefully he doesn't eat me out of house and home..._

Seeing as he hadn't woken his new companion, Anatariel once more set off into the outer reaches of Kirkwall. If his knowledge of the games held true, then it should be pretty easy for him to get into the city.

It took a few hours and quite a bit of backtracking before he found the hidden entrance to Dark Town, and he didn't even attempt to find Anders' Clinic. That would've been asking for a headache.

Quickly and quietly, Anatariel made his way through the passages and sewers of Dark Town, his memories of the game holding true. After about ten minutes he found the exit into Low Town and he quickly took stock of his situation.

 _I have very little left in the way of supplies, and a small pouch of gold which won't get me very far. I need to make contact with Varric, and I can do both at the same place. Here's hoping I catch him._

Walking to the Hanged Man didn't take all that long, luckily the clothes he'd chosen to take with him didn't scream _Dalish,_ or he would've been in some serious trouble.


	3. Truths, Warnings and Advice

**Truths, Warnings and Advice**

The door shut with a dramatic creak behind him, blocking out the majority of the daylight from the midday sun. As Anatariel cast his gaze around the dimly lit, and frankly grubby bar, his eyes caught a flash of red and he quickly affirmed that his intended target was in attendance.

Walking calmly over to the bar, he ordered two tankards of the more expensive ale, after confirming with the barkeep that this was indeed Varric's drink of choice. He waited patiently, taking note of Hawke's absensce, which honestly would serve him well today. He only needed Varric's special brand of crazy at this time.

Two tankards were placed softly in front of him, he handed over the required amount of money, lamenting his slowly shrinking coin purse – making a vow to himself to go hunt down some bandits later – and strode over to Varric's little corner, drinks in hand. Without waiting to be acknowledged he sat opposite the dwarf, placing a drink in front of him, and took a tentative sip of his own drink while he waited for Varric to talk.

 _Tastes like utter piss. Wonderful._

It was silent for several minutes, as Varric took his offered drink in hand and stared Anatariel out from the rim of the tankard. Seeing no definitive reaction, he took a long pull from the ale, sighing in appreciation as he did so. "So what brings a _Dalish_ Elf – a pretty young one at that – into the worst place imaginable for one of the clans". I go to answer before he cuts me off, "No, no, no! This is intriguing, its not often that I find myself intrigued these days. Let me hazard a guess, if you will?"

Anatariel nods his head, a mixture of bemused and amused that his character is so true to the games.

Varric took another sip of his drink before he set if down, steeples his fingers and spoke. "It's pretty obvious that you've only just come into town, now the city is still on lockdown from the influx of refugee's fleeing from their blighted lands in Ferelden, so you can't have come in that way. No, you found another way in, but there's only one entrance I know of and its only known to a few people".

Smiling to indicate that he's on the right track, the young elf waits for him to continue.

"So you somehow either stumbled upon the entrance to Dark Town, or you already knew where it was, neither way matters at the moment as you're here already. So now I've gotta guess as to why, I've got connections sure", and here he waves his hands flippantly around the bar, indicating his position within Kirkwall well enough, "but the question is, whatever could you want that I can get?"

"Safe passage", here Anatariel smiles a little sardonically, "to Ferelden, if you'll believe that. I need a Captain who's willing to take a _Dalish_ Elf such as myself across the Waking Sea to Highever. In regards to payment I have something that both you and the Captain will find invaluable, I'm sure".

The blonde haired elf has to sit back in his chair after he finishes his impassioned speech, having moved forward in his fervour to get his point across. Though the dwarf shows no reaction to the elven boys request, at least nothing so overt as to be noticed immediately. I've never been good at reading facial expressions and body language.

Varric looks at him dead in the eye, "you're serious". "Deadly so", is Anatariel's reply. "I need to be across the water within the next week or so, I can't divulge why, there are far too many ears in a city such as this. And I don't need the _Templars_ " here he stresses the word with as much caution as possible, "finding an Apostate _Dalish_ Elf of all people, hiding in a bloody city. I'd be made Tranquil before I could sneeze!"

"Alright, alright! You've made you're point, I'm willing to help, and I do know a guy who owes me a favour. So lets talk payment, for me at least. I'm not interested in what you plan on giving the Captain of the ship, plausible deniability you see". Varric smiles with a tad more warmth than he did before, coming to the conclusion that the Anatariel is just a young, frightened little elfing who's running from something.

 _Let him keep thinking that for now, I can't afford to let him know any different just yet._

After taking a calming sip of his drink, trying not to pull a face while doing so, Anatariel got his pitch ready to roll.

"I'm offering something that you and your friend Hawke, would be stupid to refuse. My offer is two-fold, first I'm providing you with blueprints for a warding scheme, designed and tested by myself. It comes with instructions for any mage worth their staff to cast, and it can in theory, withstand a full scale siege, or the very least a very large explosion". Here he pauses to take a breath, this could be what gets him sent straight to the Templars for spouting dangerous propaganda. "And secondly, I offer advice. Your companion Anders, is on the verge of something very stupid indeed. I know that you know what I'm talking about, don't try and deny it. My advice is to give Hawke those instructions, and have him fortify the edges of Hightown that border with the Chantry. Completely enclose the Chantry within this ward scheme, it will save countless lives".

Here Anatariel sighs wearily, "Have Hawke look over the plans, he should be able to confirm what I'm claiming about the ward. Once you've done that come find me, I'll be staying in a room across the street".

And with his piece said, Anatariel quickly left his seat and bolted out of the pub. Leaving a shell shocked dwarf alone to ruminate on newly revealed information.

* * *

It was nearing midnight when he heard the knocking at his door, and Anatariel was honestly not expecting it.

 _It's not Templars at least, otherwise my door would've been bashed in._

Gathering his wits about him, Anatariel slipped from the window ledge and summoned lightning to his hands. "Who is it?", he called towards the door.

"It's Varric, I've brought Hawke with me. It seems we have something to discuss with you after all, little elf". The dwarf sounded tired, as muffled as his voice was through the door, the young elf could tell at least that much.

"Alright," sighed Anatariel. "Just let me unlock the door". Dropping the lightning from his right hand, he swiped it gently from left to right and watched carefully as the door swung open. As the door bumped softly against the wall, it revealed Varric, standing with his arms crossed and dark circles under his eyes. Behind the dwarf stood an imposingly tall Human, he has choppy dark hair and what seemed to be a stripe of blood painted across his nose.

 _This must be Hawke then. Shit he's intimidating in real life, I guess this Hawke doesn't have a lot to laugh about in this life. Has his mother been turned into a weird zombie creature yet? God I hope not, ruthless Hawke would not be a fun guy to be around._

As Anatariel was making his visual assessment, Hawke was relying on his impeccable judge of character to try and pin point if this elf and his outrageous 'advice' held any water. All he could make out from the sight of him, was that he was a pragmatist, his back was to the window and he held a charged lightning attack in his left palm.

"I hope you aren't planning on loosing that spell in this tiny space, I know for a fact that the landlord has just had this place remodelled, after one of Varric's little schemes backfired of course". Hawke uttered casually. His voice was scratchy with undercurrents of nobility flowing through it, and it sent shivers of apprehension down Anatariel's spine. But he knew Hawke was right, so he reluctantly released the magic and let the electricity sink back beneath his skin before he replied.

"Thank you for coming, and for not bringing the Templars down on my head. Mythal knows I don't need them chasing me through Low Town. Now I know you have questions, and I promise I have answers. Whether you'll believe them or not is still up for debate".

Taking a deep breath, he launched into the story of how he came to be, waking up in the body of a young elf, all the confusion and hysteria that followed. Detailing how life in his old world differed from this one – including that in his world, Thedas was considered nothing but a game – and how he felt the need to help Hawke prevent the loss of life that Anders will bring, even if its only damage control.

It took over an hour to cover everything, and both Hawke and Varric looked a little green around the gills, Anatariel was taking that as a good sign that they believed him. But before he could feel any relief Hawke spoke.

"If.. and I mean _if_ I were to believe you, what proof can you provide?"

Anatariel smiled wanly, "Have you ever shared memories Hawke? It's the only way I can prove that what I said is true". His voice held a small quaver of hope. Hope that was blossoming when Hawke didn't immediately tense up.

"I have, and I find myself wanting to believe you, so why not? Varric will of course be on standby in case you try to fry brain" He answered, casting a knowing look at Varric mixed with a warning.

Anatariel gathered himself before walking up to Hawke, bringing his hands up, now glowing with silver light. He gave one final warning to Hawke before his fingers made contact with his temples. "Brace yourself, this is going to be extremely overwhelming". And with that he pressed his fingers to skin and forced the memories deep into Hawkes mind.

* * *

 **AN: Here's chapter three! Its starting to get a little more interesting now that Hawkes involved, I mean when doesn't it? Now be prepared, this story is going to expand on the magic used on the game by quite a lot - but please don't expect too much on the way of technical explanations. My reasoning for the expansions is that in the game, they could only do so much without turning the magic combat system into a mess of skill trees and useless perks. So in the real world - so to speak - the magic will be a lot more fleshed out and varied. I hope that I can do it justice. Anway, please review, it makes me smile.**

 **Many Love,**

 **Nichiwwa**


	4. Headaches and Friendships

**Headaches and Friendships**

Hawke gasped as an entire lifetime of images flew through his mind, moving impossibly fast yet lingering for eternity in his minds eye. His felt his knees beginning to buckle, and the warm weight of Varric supporting him as the onslaught of memories and emotions continued to batter his consciousness.

As soon as it started, it was over. Hawke, fell to his knees wheezing with tears streaming down his eyes as the truth he had asked to see was laid bare. His world, Thedas was real, yet it wasn't. It hurt his head just trying to grasp the concept. That's not even touching on the future events he glimpsed before Anatariel cut the connection.

"Why did you stop?" he rasped, "It's obvious there was more to show, the conclave, the Breach and... the _Evanuris_?". Here his tone turned confused. He wasn't quite sure what that last thing was in reference to.

Anatariel, steadied himself before answering, sharing his life and some of his memories of the games had thrown him for a loop. "If I'd shown you any more, you would have suffered a psychotic break. Questioning ones existence tends to do that when confronted with seemingly impossible information". He sighed wearily before continuing, "Just know that certain things must happen as I know them to happen, or Thedas will quite literally be torn apart... and I need your help" he says looking at both Hawke and Varric, "to make the best of all the possible outcomes come to pass. Perhaps even better than the best".

Varric looked between Hawke and Anatariel before chuckling nervously, "It seems you've stumbled across yet another crazy situation Hawke". He says, shaking his head ruefully. "I sure hope you know what you're doing little elf" he directs at the youngest member of the room. The elf frowns slightly, "My name is Anatariel, not little elf. And I'm well aware of what is at stake Varric", here he sighs and sits down on the bed heavily, "There are so many things I need to do, to set into motion before 9:41 Dragon. That's when the world really goes to shit".

Visibly gathering himself, Anatariel crossed the room and sat unceremoniously on the bed, instinctively reaching to the sleeping Sauron and running his fingers through his fur before he spoke again. "My wards work, you'll find out soon enough. What I need from you both is safe passage across the Waking Sea, that and your silence, I can't risk the Templars finding me to early... I need six years. But I know that isn't feasible, so any time you can get me before I become a hunted apostate would be most welcome". Looking to Hawke, the young elf saw something akin to understanding cross his face before it was gone, replaced with a determined expression. An expression that was quickly followed by a groan from his dwarven companion.

"You've already decided haven't you Hawke", Varric stated resignedly.

Hawke grin rather viciously before answering, "Yep".

Varric sighed noisily, looking Anatariel dead in the eye, "Alright little elf, lets talk business shall we?". He said, walking to the nearby table and flopping gracelessly into the nearest seat.

* * *

The rest of the night was filled with soft voices and plans for the future of not only Anatariel, but mages across the entire of Southern Thedas, concerning not just their freedom, but beyond that. Most of it was baseless speculation mixed with hope and a dash of self depreciation, but underneath all of that there was a kernel of steel, an iron will forged by years of living a life of the unconventional and desperate. And once the serious talk petered out into circular ramblings and 'what ifs', talk turned to the friendlier topics of families and friendships. Long into the night the three future friends created the bonds that would carry them through several trials and tribulations, of varying scale and intensity.

* * *

Morning broke clear and fresh several days later, announcing Anatariel's time in the City of Chains at a close. He stood with his two new found friends, Varric and Hawke, waiting for the Captain of the cargo ship they had procured to allow the young elf to board.

With a shrill whistle said Captain signalled that his ship was ready to depart, deck hands bustled about faster, securing lines and cargo. The flurry of activity sent tingles of nervousness down Anatariel's spine, turning to his friends he smiled tremulously while making sure Sauron was secured in his bag-cum-harness.

"This is it then, off to explore blighted lands and hidey-holes. Hopefully Mythal will see fit to avenge my inevitable death" joked the blonde elf, snorting at Hawke's raised eyebrow.

"Try not to die little elf, who would I thrash at Wicked Grace if you did? Hawke's known me long enough now that he knows all my tells, I was enjoying the abject humiliation at your defeats". Varric said, smirking like a cat the whole time. Anatariel swatted him upside the head lightly, "Cheeky bastard" he laughed, "Just see if I play another game with you ever again, I'll find new friends, friends who can't play that accursed game for shit".

The red haired dwarf chuckled before turning serious, "Now, the Carta went to a lot of trouble to procure you papers allowing you entry into Highever and Ferelden proper. Don't lose them, they won't reissue them, they'll probably kill you instead".

Anatariel nodded his understanding and patted his bag absently.

"And please, no magic between getting off the boat and leaving Highever. The Templar presence there is substantial... and overzealous", said Hawke as he took a step forward to grasp Anatariel's smaller shoulder, "Be careful".

"I will, I've come too far to fail now" replied the elf as he ducked in for a quick hug, eliciting a laugh from his human friend before he stepped back. "I best be boarding. The Captain is starting to look a mite bit inpatient. Remember what I told you both, certain things must happen or it could makes things worse for everyone, just apply the wards and protect the mages from the political blow out" here he smiled ruefully, "Just send them all to me instead, I should be set up by that point and needing the numbers".

With a final chuckle and a wave, Anatariel turned and boarded the cargo ship. Moments later the dock began to shrink from view, along with the sight of his only friends in this backwards world. Reaching into his bag, Anatariel scratched behind his feline companions ears, earning a low purr for his efforts.

 _Looks like its just you and me for a while, eh Sauron?_

Casting his eyes in the direction of Ferelden he smiled to himself.

 _Part one of my Quest – Establish a connection with Varric and Hawke – complete. Next, try and find somewhere out of the view of the Templars and Nobles... hmm, the Grand Forest Villa maybe? It was supposedly abandoned during the Fifth Blight, hopefully the bandits haven't set up camp there yet. Its far enough from Redcliffe that no one will dare to travel there without significant numbers. It will also give me the time and space I need to build up my own numbers and supplies ready for the Mage Rebellion. Yes, its perfect._

With his path set in his mind, Anatariel Lavellan sailed across the Waking Sea to a whole new chapter of his life


End file.
